The River Reporter Special Sections Header

Few clouds
Few clouds
17.6 °F
December 11, 2016
River Reporter Facebook pageTRR TwitterRSS Search

The Language of All Things

Photo by Ross Brinkerhoff

By MaryAnn Cappellino

Impatient for the day to begin
I emerge from my dark bedroom and head outside
To hurry it along
I clutch the old pilled sweater firmly against the early day
The edges of my nightgown wipe the dew from the grey green grass
I stand rooted
The morning greets me
A pine scented soft breeze washes away yesterday
As it glides gently through the family of trees
That have been here since long before me
Tall and friendly, watchful
Their voice
An orchestra of leaves
fluttering and swaying
performing nature’s sweet melodies
A relentless chorus of large crows, caw magnificently
emerging from their nighttime perches, black and iridescent
Noisily taking flight
They rise up into the new day
stirring up the sky
circling and dancing
Is it for me?
My soul dances and smiles and sings out
in concert,
with grace
Speaking one language
Welcoming the morning
Grateful for its greeting
And for what is to follow
In all its possibilities and promise